Show The poem To a Wild Rose Found in Octo October her is a gem in its own way It lacks the simple strength of Burris but it breathes the same love and appreciation of nature Thou foolish blossom all untimely blown Poor jest of summer come when woods are chill Thy sister buds in Junes June's warm redness grown That lit with laughter all the upland hill Have traceless passed save on each stem Red drops tell teIl how their hearts in dying bled What Wha matters if to night come swirling snow And death The Power that makes that mars is One I know or care not when when that that Power bids blow I lope ope my curled petals to the sun |